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Day One: Monthly Letter
Nineteen years ago, almost to the day, I received my very first fan letter. I was living on Long Island at the time and Ð in a wild burst of first-timer's optimism Ð had rented a mailbox at our local post office. After all, I was about to be inundated with bags and bags of readers' rave reviews. Or so I thought. The post office was a tiny one-room affair tucked between King Kullen and Woolworth's, a postal version of Cheers where everyone really did know your name . . . and your business. It didn't take long at all for the staff to figure out that I was waiting for my fan mail to start pouring in because in the first days of my first book's existence, I haunted the place, praying that someone out there somewhere would read my story and like it enough to sit down and write me a letter. Even a postcard would do. By the time Week #2 rolled around, I was convinced that not only did nobody out there like my book, they disliked it so much that they were returning copies by the wagonload.
I muttered something to the poor man then, clutching that letter tightly, I turned and ran to the privacy of my beat-up 1968 Mustang parked in the far corner of the lot. Oh, the wonder of that first letter! Pale pink stationery with a small white seashell design in the lower lefthand corner of the envelope Ð I can see it now in my mind's eye. My name and address were carefully written in a clear rounded hand that has, over the years, become sweetly familiar to me.
That was probably the sweetest moment of my career and, quite honestly, one of the luckiest. Mary and I started out as reader and writer, but we quickly became friends. Good friends. The kind of friends who celebrate the good times and hold each other's hands through the bad. Seeing your name on the cover of a book is a wonderful thing but it doesn't compare to the joy to be found in touching someone's heart with your words and, in turn, being touched by theirs. I guess this is a long-winded way of telling each and every one of you how much your notes and guestlist messages mean to me. I apologize for taking so long to answer your questions, thank you for your compliments, and send on your Free Stuff! Life around here is a little difficult right now but I promise you that I will answer every single note as soon as possible. In the meantime, please keep writing to me. I love hearing from you! Your notes of good cheer and prayers for my parents' health have helped more than I can say.
With great affection,
In stores now:
Archived letters:
April 2001
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May 2001
So you can my surprise when I opened my mailbox one sunny May morning all those years
ago and found The Letter. My face turned red, my hands started to shake Ð it was no
wonder that Joe, the clerk behind the counter, asked me if I needed a glass of water.
I'm surprised he didn't ask me if I needed CPR because I must have looked like I was
about to hit the floor face first.
The words swam, truly swam, before my eyes. A stranger, someone who wasn't related
to me and therefore not obliged by blood to like (or at least pretend to like) my
work, had read my story and thought enough of it to sit down and write me a letter. Wow!
